


Trip & Fall

by brocanteur



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocanteur/pseuds/brocanteur
Summary: Post "JJ"; "She sees the light of day from behind closed eyelids."
Relationships: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	Trip & Fall

She stops and catches her breath, leaning back into another bouncing, sweaty body. It's too early for this, she thinks. Too fucking early. She hasn't even had time to take a drink or smoke or _anything._ Folding in on herself--arms crossed as her eyes scan the periphery, only to return of their own accord to the scene--Naomi watches.  
  
 _Fucking Cook._ Her eyes burn as she strains to make out shapes under flickering lights--red and blinding white and back to black. Definitely her. Definitely Emily. He's got his big hands all over her...  
  
Naomi swallows, sways. Watches Emily, hair plastered to her face, dancing wildly, grinding back into Cook while he just fucking _gropes_ his way 'round, grabs her tits and puts his mouth on her throat...  
  
"Jesus." She's said it aloud, she realizes. Effy gives her a quizzical look--raised eyebrows and an almost-smile. Naomi shakes her head, feeling sudden anger battling unexpected, unwanted, desire. "What?" she snaps.  
  
"Jealous?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, Naomi answers, "Are you?"  
  
"No." When Effy says the word--simply, flatly--her gaze strays to Freddie and JJ, and Naomi has to contain a snort. This is all too much, but it's not like she's got room to talk.  
  
She finds herself staring back at Emily and Cook again and when she sees Katie finally arrive, finally put an end to it by dragging Emily away, Naomi lets out a breath. "'Bout fucking time."  
  
"You could have, you know," Effy says vaguely. It's irritating sometimes, how vague Effy can be.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Gone to her."  
  
Naomi's about to reply that no, she couldn't have--that things aren't sorted, that it's not her place and she isn't even sure she wants it to be--when a fight breaks out. When she looks, she makes Cook out in the center of it. "Of course," she murmurs, and follows Effy into the crowd.  
  
\--  
  
She sees the light of day from behind closed eyelids. She refuses to open them.  
  
It isn't until her bed tips a bit that she really wakes up, bleary-eyed and dry-mouthed. Well hungover because after it was clear Emily had gone from the club, Naomi followed Effy's advice and got monumentally fucked-up.  
  
It's only a mild surprise when Naomi finds Emily staring back at her, eyes wide and searching. She's got on what seem like they might be the same clothes as the night before, but she looks like she went home and washed; which makes no sense, makes Naomi wonder where Emily spent the night. Biting her tongue, she refuses to ask.  
  
"Your mum let me in."  
  
"Obviously," Naomi remarks, instantly sorry for the sarcasm. She hadn't meant to sound like such a twat but it seems, at the moment, her speciality. She offers a tentative smile in apology.  
  
But Emily just sighs and clears her throat. When she glances down at the floor and rubs the underside of her nose, Naomi flashes on their night by the lake and forces herself not to wince.  
  
"This is the last time," Emily says quietly.  
  
"What?" Naomi asks, sitting up in bed, holding the sheet to her chest. Fool's modesty, maybe, but she can't help it. Doesn't matter. Emily's not looking at her.  
  
"That I chase after you." On Emily's face is a resoluteness that frightens Naomi, just a bit. Just enough.  
  
So when she grins half-heartedly and asks, "Is that what you're doing?" she tries to make it sound like a joke (tries to shake away the dread). Except it's stupid, and Emily doesn't even crack a smile.  
  
Emily runs her hand across her face like she's crying, but her eyes are dry. She shrugs and says, "I'm trying to be honest with everyone. With myself." She glances meaningfully at Naomi. "It's not easy, but I'm making a go of it."  
  
"No," Naomi murmurs, swallowing down the urge to say something real, "I suppose it's not easy. How's it been going then, your honesty?"  
  
Emily shrugs again. "Dunno. Still sorting that out, I guess." When she takes a deep, unsteady breath, Naomi braces for the worst. "Maybe it won't turn out the way I want. I mean, maybe you won't want me the way I want you but..." She shakes her head. "I'm not going to regret it, you know? I couldn't."  
  
"Emily--"  
  
"I've had my say," Emily interrupts. "I've said everything to you, Naomi. Do you have anything for me?"  
  
Because she really doesn't have anything to say (not so, all of her words are lodged in her throat, in her chest; so many that, sometimes, she feels as if she were choking on them) Naomi exhales noisily and pulls back her bedcovers. "Later, alright?" She waits, and when Emily doesn't move, just stares back at her with a bit of a shocked expression, she adds, "Take off your shoes."  
  
They don't sleep. Naomi closes her eyes, but she's very much awake. (Beside her, Emily lies very still. The side of her knee presses against Naomi's thigh.) Thinks she can feel it whenever Emily's gaze lingers a bit too long.  
  
She doesn't know how long they lie there. It can't be more than a few minutes. Five, maybe. When Naomi finally opens her eyes again and turns to look at Emily, Emily's gaze is fixed on the ceiling. "Ems?"  
  
Emily makes a questioning sound, but she doesn't look at Naomi.  
  
"Emily?" Naomi's voice is quiet. She waits for Emily to take a breath, to shift her attention. When she does, when she's looking Naomi straight in the eye, waiting, Naomi adds, "Will you kiss me?"  
  
Emily's gaze turns flinty for a moment, but then something changes. She softens. Opens her mouth like she's about to speak, but nothing comes out.  
  
"Please," Naomi says. "Just--"  
  
Emily's mouth is almost familiar now. The shape of it--its softness, its give. It's also wholly unpredictable--can be gentle one moment and greedy the next. But it's good--it's so good, sometimes Naomi can't stand it. Wants to tear herself away and say _enough_ even when it's not, even when it seems like it'll never be enough. When their lips part, Naomi inhales so sharply it sounds like a sob.  
  
Something flickers across Emily's face, a spark of recognition perhaps. She begins to pull away but Naomi shakes her head, sliding her fingers to the back of Emily's neck, holding tightly. "No, don't... Can't we just...?"  
  
They're kissing again, and it's a bit out of control. Naomi thinks this is better; she can handle it when her thoughts blur and all that really matter are Emily's hands and her mouth, hot as it presses against Naomi's skin. Clever hands, clever mouth. When Emily's lips slide wetly across her throat, Naomi trembles. And she asks, without thinking, "Why?" (She hates the weakness in her voice.)  
  
Confused, breathless, Emily's response is a harsh sigh against Naomi's ear. "Why what?"  
  
Naomi squeezes her eyes shut. Why you, she wants to ask. Why _you?_ Instead she pushes against Emily's shoulder until Emily's flat on her back. "Nothing," she answers roughly, shaking her head as she straddles Emily's hips. "Nothing."  
  
Except maybe sex is just an exchange of information and, when Emily raises her head and kisses Naomi deep, achingly deep and slow (and right), Naomi can't help but think she's received an answer.  
  
(Someday she'll stop asking herself what it means. Someday she'll accept that some things just _are_ , that meaning is superfluous. She wishes she could stop mucking up something beautiful. And it is; it is beautiful--so fucking beautiful she wishes she could escape from it. She'll ruin it. She knows she will.)  
  
When Naomi slides her hand down the inside of Emily's thigh, Emily bites her lip, her eyes fluttering shut. She puts her arms back, her fingers grazing the headboard, and releases the softest kind of cry. A weird emotion floods through Naomi, and try as she might, she can't quite tamp it down. She turns her head and kisses Emily's elbow, watching for the quirking of Emily's mouth. "That first time you kissed me," Naomi asks throatily, "did you think we'd ever end up here, like this?"  
  
Emily licks her lips, keeping her eyes firmly shut. "I don't know." When she sighs, Naomi tips forward and presses her mouth to Emily's cheek, unable to keep from smiling when Emily nuzzles back. "Mostly, I've taken what I could. I mean, I've always taken what I could."  
  
Naomi doesn't know what to think of that, doesn't know if it's a reproach or a statement of fact. It doesn't matter. When they kiss this time, it's an urgent kiss. The sort of kiss that turns messy, fast. The kind that leaves Naomi's chest on fire, her legs weak. She sinks against Emily and thinks that maybe she'll take what she can too. She'll take Emily's kisses and her funny smiles and her laughter and her warm eyes and her kindness. And she won't think of how badly she'll fuck it up. She'll shake her head at the mountain of anticipatory guilt looming before her.  
  
She'll refuse the nudge of her aching heart.


End file.
